


Yay for Magic

by DeputyDylinski



Series: Life is a fairytale [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blood and Injury, Creeper Peter Hale, Curses, Derek Hale as the Beast (Beauty and the Beast), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Injured Stiles Stilinski, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Inspired by Disney, Kidnapping, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Manipulation, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mentioned Laura Hale, Mind Control, Mutual Pining, OTP Feels, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, POV Derek, POV Stiles Stilinski, Pining, Pining Derek, Possession, Prince Derek Hale, Protective Derek, Rape/Non-con Elements, Secrets, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stalker Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski as Beauty (Beauty and the Beast), Tied-Up Stiles Stilinski, True Love, True Mates, Werewolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:33:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25728226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeputyDylinski/pseuds/DeputyDylinski
Summary: Beauty and the Beast AUIt’s the same with all his other friends, they all have claws, amber eyes and scary fangs, but that’s all. Derek... well, Derek is something else. He has fangs so long they almost brush his chin, making his lower lip rub against them and expose the rest of his razor sharp teeth. His eyes are a crimson red, which he calls his alpha eyes, but compared to the others, he can actually stop them from flashing and show their real colour. But his claws are longer and sharper, his brow is more pronounced and actually hairless, the caterpillars –like his dad used to call them– that usually sat there somehow disappeared. His shoulders are hunched like they are top heavy, which they're not but his spine seems to be deformed like that. His hair is longer than it used to be, all wild tufts of black hair that he can’t seem to tame.He’s ugly. A monster. A beast.An abomination.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Series: Life is a fairytale [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910839
Comments: 13
Kudos: 221





	Yay for Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Long time since I posted or updated anything.
> 
> This fic has been in the making over the past two years, and I just wanted it out into the beautiful world of Sterek and their stans.
> 
> I hope you like it!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> *
> 
> So, this is based of Beauty and the Beast, I would say loosely but it certainly has some traits of the story.
> 
> So, Derek is the Beast, which duh, but he is slightly uglier than he is in his beta form on TW. I mean, he is one fine man to look at, but when he turns it’s BHAM, let’s make one of the hottest people alive one of the ugliest. But that’s okay. He is hairier at the sideburns, he walks a bit hunched and his brow is even more pronounced. Everything is just more. But it will be described as such in the story.
> 
> Derek is twenty five, Stiles is twenty two, the betas are everything in between.
> 
> *
> 
> English is not my first language, and it is unbeta'd. Sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> A star indicates Stiles' POV, a crown Derek's POV.
> 
> *
> 
> Warning: sexual harassment, manipulation, mind control and stalker-tendencies

✦

  
  


“I’ll be back in six weeks, Dad. I do this every half a year,” Stiles says, even though he hugs his father tighter.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I won’t miss you. Or worry about you. You are twenty two now, but you’ll always be my little boy. _Our_ little boy.” They both glance to the portrait on the wall, Claudia Stilinski smiling shyly at the both of them, a delicate red rose held between her long fingers.

“I love you, Dad. And yes, I’ll be careful,” the boy adds as his father opens his mouth. “But I have to go now, otherwise it will be long dark before I arrive.”

His father sighs, nods, wipes a stray tear from his slightly wrinkled cheek, and finally lets go of his son. “I love you too, son. Be safe, Mischief.”

“I will, Dad.” And he turns away, not looking back. 

Each year it gets harder. It was already hard when his dad went away for one week at the time to do the trading. But when Stiles turned sixteen and his dad collapsed in front of him due to a bad heart, he made up his mind and travelled three towns over every half a year himself. First just five days, but with the taxes increasing and his father’s health decreasing, it quickly turned into two weeks, then four, and now six. And it is still not enough. The mortgage isn’t paid off by far, and the medical bills from his mom are littering the small wooden house.

So Stiles loads up the last of the things into the sacks that are hanging on either side of their old mare, Roscoe, and is about to mount the horse when a strong hand grabs his bicep and turns him around.

“Stiles, going away again?” Peter Hale asks while he eyes the younger boy up and down.

“Have to escape from your dirty little paws somehow. Right, Peter?” Stiles sneers and tries to free himself from the restricting grip the taller one has on his arm.

“Don’t be like that, Stiles, you know you’ll eventually be mine,” the asshole smirks, bringing his free hand to Stiles’ face to stroke the side of it.

Stiles jerks away from it, rage building steadily in his ribcage. “Get your hands off of me, Hale, or I’ll–”

“Or you what, my little spark,” Peter laughs. “You’ll swing one of your fantasy books at my head?”

“It’s full of fairytales, and you know that. And that’s not the only thing I’ll do. I’ll castrate you and use your worthless balls as bookmarks, I swear to god–”

“Such harsh words for such a pretty mouth. When you get back, you’ll marry me. Mark my words, Stiles, you’ll say yes, or your father will suffer the consequences. Do I make myself clear, little spark?”

“Peter–”

“I love it how you say my name, so desperate, but I need an answer. Have I made myself clear, my dear Stiles? In six weeks, you’ll be mine, or something’s going to happen to papa-dear, yes?”

Feeling tears fight their way up to his eyes, Stiles turns his face away, only to be jerked back again by the rough hands of Peter. “And if you think that staying away for longer, or forever, will save you, than you are mistaken. I’ll find you, I swear.”

Stiles nods, not daring to say otherwise. Peter beams at him, loosening his grip a bit, but still caging Stiles in his arms. He leans forward, biting Stiles’ bottom lip before licking it possessively and kissing it roughly before leaning back, obscenely licking his own lips in the progress. “Good boy, Stiles. I’ll see you in a month and a half, fiance. Now go, or it will be dark long before you arrive in the big city, huh? Bye, my little spark.” And he pecks Stiles on the tip of his nose, almost delicately. 

Once Peter has finally rounded the corner, Stiles wipes his eyes furiously before finally climbing on his horse, glancing back once at his small, rickety house he lives in with his dad, praying that he’ll be safe from Peter Hale.

Even a few hours later, deep in the woods, he keeps glancing at his right hand, which is bare, but won’t be for much longer. There will be a ring on it soon. Probably one of real gold, showing of Peter’s fortune. He actually wanted to force Stiles to marry him by paying off all their debts, and Stiles almost agreed, but his father found out and had stopped him just in time. It isn’t a secret that Noah Stilinski hates Peter Hale even more than his son does.

It’s when he finally glances up that he finds himself lost. This part of the woods don’t seem familiar to the twenty two year old, and it’s pretty dark in this area already. 

“Shit,” Stiles mutters as he grabs his old map out of his jacket pocket, shivering when a few drops of rain fall on him, decorating the thin fabric that should shield his body from the cold with dark splatters. His glasses have drops sliding down the lenses.

He hunches over the piece of paper in his hands, somehow managing to keep it dry, well, sort off dry. But he doesn’t recognize anything, so he starts to turn Roscoe back to where they came from, berating himself for being so stupid to not pay attention, frustrated tears ruining the map instead of rain droplets screwing up the ink. 

But even riding back to where they came from, the woods seem eerily dark and cold, the thunder and rain not helping at all. It has become kind of misty, and he seems to be shivering a lot more violently. His knuckles are white around the reigns, his nails biting into his cooled flesh.

“I’m sorry, Roscoe. I’m such a failure! I have to marry Peter now, otherwise I can’t protect Dad, and now I can’t even sort out the way we were supposed to go, even though we’ve been riding this for years! And I know you forgot the way, I mean, you’re old! And I’m twenty and so selfish I could only think of my own misery. I’m sor–” Stiles gets interrupted by Roscoe, who reels back and starts to neigh in fright. 

“Roscoe, what’s wrong? Hush, girl, there’s nothing there.” Stiles leans forward to sooth the mare, petting her mane and speaking softly in her twitching ear. She finally seems to calm down, so he reaches in one of the sacks for an old apple. He slowly extends it toward her to not spook her again, and he’s glad she’s on the smaller side so he can actually reach her mouth when he stands a bit. She opens her mouth and is about to take a bite when she steps back one more step, and then Stiles hears it: growling.

His head snaps up, and he falters when he sees a pack of malicious looking wolves staring straight at him. “Okay, Roscoe, we need to stay nice and quiet. Shh– fuck!”

Roscoe neighs again and steals, throwing Stiles and the apple off of her.

The boy falls with a thud on the forest ground, which is wet and littered with stones, and he lands hard on his left arm while his head hits one of the rocks. He can only see Roscoe taking off between the trees before black invades his vision and he loses consciousness. 

  
  


♔

  
  


Derek staggers when the scent hits his nose, his eyes watering when the underlying scent of _horse_ catches up to the beautiful first one that made him stop in his tracks.

The mare steps back when it catches sight of a pack of wolves on Derek’s right, neighing frantically and desperately trying to get back, but the boy riding the horse, the one who smells like caramel, cinnamon but also something akin to spice –which usually means magic– tries to stop her. He doesn’t seem to hear the wolves.

It works, certainly because the surprisingly low voice of the young man is incredibly soothing to listen to. It’s a shame that even with his alpha eyes, he can’t see the boy all that well. It’s just too far, but maybe if he just takes one or two steps–

The wolves start to growl harder, and the boy’s head snaps up. His eyes widen, and his breath stutters in his chest. 

“Okay, Roscoe, we need to stay still. Shh– fuck!”

One of the wolves has leapt closer and the horse goes wild, neighing in fright and stealing, throwing off the boy. She flees deeper into the woods, completely foregoing the path they took, but Derek doesn’t care: the boy lays limply on the ground, the smell of blood so thick in the air that even the rain isn’t able to wash it away.

Derek sprints toward the unconscious boy, roaring and flashing his eyes in the direction of the closest wolf, skidding to his knees. The wolves flee, whining and whimpering, scampering away from Derek and the man.

Derek’s breath catches in his lungs as he sees the boy up close. He is simply magnificent: an upturned nose, his lips a dark pink, slightly open, his eyelashes so long they are laying softly on his pronounced cheekbones. He has too big clothes on, but they are drenched in rainwater now so the subtle muscles of the lean figure are shining through, all long limbs and elegant hands and such _broad_ shoulders...

It’s when he has looked his fill he finally remembers the boy is _unconscious_ and _bleeding_ and so, so cold. So he scoops him up, laying his head gently in the crook of his own shoulder and neck after he has wrapped his fur coat around the other man. He’s not heavy, not at all, and he isn’t as tall as Derek himself, but it’s still a bit hard to tuck all the long limbs as close to his own body as possible without letting the boy fall. He manages after a few tries, the boy now safe in his arms, and he can finally turn around to make the track through the dark, cold woods.

It takes a bit longer than normal, but he has a beautiful specimen in his arms that smells divine too, so he’s a bit distracted, don’t blame him. But he eventually makes it back to his castle, sheltering the body in his arms from the rain turned to snow, calling for Melissa to make up one of the bedrooms and make sure the fire is on in it too, to grab bandages and warm clothes. He walks straight up to Scott, because Derek knows he’s curious but won’t ask questions until later on, and he directs Derek to Cora’s old room, the one with the greens and blues and golds that gives you the feel of ocean and sand in the burning sun. The sheets are a dark blue, and when he lays the boy on them, he has to hold his breath, the blue such a stark contrast with the porcelain-like skin it’s nothing else but literally breathtaking.

“He’s cute,” the voice of Erica fills the room, echoing when everyone stays silent. “D’you kidnap him?”

“Erica!” Scott snaps, scowling at her.

“Derek, we need to get him out of these clothes. Isaac, grab some towels, would you?” Melissa instructs, waving Derek over. He tries to undo the small buttons on the cream-coloured blouse, but his claws keep getting in the way, and Erica’s, “Oooh, Derek, go get ’em”, isn’t helping, so Melissa gives him one of the damp towels Isaac has handed her and he nods in thanks, moving to clean the blood and dirt from the boy’s face. But then the young man winces, even though he doesn’t wake, so Derek looks back at Melissa with concern.

“He has a dislocated shoulder, we need to put it back,” she says in explanation. He nods, but doesn’t move, too scared to hurt the boy further, but when Melissa has put his shoulder back in place and the boy lets out a groan of pain, his hand shoots out to gently touch the base of his neck and drain the pain away. 

He stays there, only moving a bit when Isaac takes over the cleaning and Scott helps with undressing him, and Melissa puts those butterfly band-aids on the gash on the younger’s temple, and Boyd carefully places the injured arm in a sling, while Erica fluffs up some pillows to put under his head.

Derek stays there, even when the sun is already coming up, but always hiding behind the clouds, and the snow turns into hail and all the others went to bed. He keeps draining the little bit of pain the boy has, pulling the blankets a bit higher when he starts to shiver. He finally goes away when the boy’s spidery eyelashes start to quiver, and Melissa is back with Isaac to change the bandage that’s been placed over the angry red mark on the boy’s temple, too afraid the boy would wake up and scare himself back into an unconscious slumber by Derek’s monstrous appearance.

He knows the boy might be scared at the sight of Isaac, but he only has amber eyes, fangs and claws. And the bunch of curls on his head helps a lot too.

It’s the same with all his other friends, they all have claws, amber eyes and scary fangs, but that’s all. Derek... well, Derek is something else. He has fangs so long they almost brush his chin, making his lower lip rub against them and expose the rest of his razor sharp teeth. His eyes are a crimson red, which he calls his alpha eyes, but compared to the others, he can actually stop them from flashing and show their real colour. But his claws are longer and sharper, his brow is more pronounced and actually hairless, the caterpillars –like his dad used to call them– that usually sat there somehow disappeared. His shoulders are hunched like they are top heavy, which they're not but his spine seems to be deformed like that. His hair is longer than it used to be, all wild tufts of black hair that he can’t seem to tame.

He’s ugly. A monster. A beast.

An abomination.

He swiftly moves to the other side of the castle, to the west wing and hides there like the coward he is, the sound of the heartbeat of the boy constantly drumming against his eardrums like some sort of cruel punishment.

  
  


✦

  
  


Stiles wakes with a pounding headache, and his shoulder is screaming at him, the pounding in it in sync with the one in his head. The latter actually starts to hurt more when he tries to remember what happened last night.

“Isaac, he’s waking up. Go let the others know, but stay away before I’ve told him, okay?” A woman’s voice breaks the silence. Stiles is curious now, trying to open his eyes but they seem stuck together with sleep. His limbs are also still sleep heavy, his mind a fuzzy mess, so he still can’t remember what happened exactly.

“Oh, honey, take your time waking up,” the kind voice of the woman assures him, a warm hand stroking the hair from his forehead, and he actually leans into the touch. He moans when her fingers run through his hair, a sigh escaping his lips when she does it again.

“Hgn,” he manages to bring out and he is finally, _finally_ able to open his eyes. The sight of a beautiful woman greets him, wild curls escaping her ponytail and a pair of soft lips curled into a friendly smile. “Hey there,” she says in such a motherly tone his chest aches with want, but grief and sadness as well. “You’ve been out for awhile,” she continues.

Stiles’ mouth feels parched, so the only thing he can do is make a questioning sound, and the woman reaches over him to grab a glass filled with such cool water, condense slides down the glass and drips on the expensive looking sheets. He leans onto his good arm and lets the lady tip the glass against his lips. The twenty year old gulps it down greedily, so fast a few lost drops of water dribble down his chin.

“There you go,” the woman says gently as he lets himself fall back into the cushions. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Stiles Stilinski. It’s a nickname, don’t worry,” he says when the woman raises her eyebrows in surprise.

She chuckles. “I’m Melissa McCall. How do you feel? You’ve made quite a fall.”

“I’m okay, just a headache and my shoulder hurts. Where am I? What happened?”

“We found you, brought you here to recover. I think you got a light concussion, so you’ll need to stay here until it’s better.”

“Thank you, but I don’t know you. I don’t know what your intentions are, and you do seem nice and sincere, but–” Stiles rambles, not really knowing what his ultimate decision will be yet.

“I get that, but I can’t really let you leave. As a precaution, honey, don’t worry. We don’t have any horses here anymore, and I don’t know where you come from, but it’ll be too dangerous to just walk back. Even without a concussion: the wolves are still out there.” She smiles again, but something akin to strictness makes her eyebrows furrow. “Are you hungry? I can get some f–”

The door flies open, and a young woman with wild, blonde curls spills into the room. “He’s awake? How is he? Does he look as cute awake as he does unconscious?”

Stiles startles, rising up one arm to scoot upright. His eyes go wide as three others come rushing through the double doors.

“Erica!” A dark skinned man yells, making Stiles wince. 

“Mom, I’m sorry!”

“She was too fast, Melissa–”

And a lowly whispered, “What the hell?” from Stiles as he casts a glance at their faces. “Am I hallucinating? Is this a side effect of that concussion? Wha–”

“Ssh, Stiles, it’s okay. They won’t harm you,” Ms McCall shushes, trying to get him to lay down again.

“They won’t? She’s looking at me like she wants to freaking eat me!”

“Oh, with those lips I bet you’d eat _me_ , into a mind-blowing org–”

“Erica!” The three others shout.

“What?” she says innocently, shrugging her shoulders.

“What _are_ you?” Stiles asks, now more intrigued than scared. He studies the one closest to him, a hispanic looking boy his age, resembling Ms McCall quite a bit. “Dude,” he breathes out as he slowly extends his hand to run his fingers over the tips of his… claws?

“Watch out!” the boy calls out and he snatches his hand to his chest. Stiles startles and does the same, his heart thundering in his chest. “They’re sharp,” the boy explains, his amber eyes apologetic. 

“Sorry,” mumbles Stiles, eyes downcast and on his now fiddling fingers. But curiosity gets the better of him and he glances to the side, eyeing the weird looking kids.

“You are adorable,” the girl coos, smirking when Stiles blushes.

“Am not,” he grumbles, at which the curly haired guy contradicts with, “You _so_ are.”

“Don’t mind them,” Ms McCall says, smiling sweetly when she ruffles his hair. “You should take a shower, and we will explain everything after that. Scott, would you handle the pump, please? And the rest, make sure you get some food in here.”

“Yes, Mama McCall,” they all say in unison. The hispanic boy, Scott apparently, helps him out of bed while the other three leave the room, the girl looking back once and winking at Stiles. He then notices he hasn’t anything on apart from his underwear, so he blushes a deeper shade of red, especially now he’d noticed all the muscles on the boys. He has some himself too, but he seems pretty pathetic compared to them.

“Why am I practically naked?” He questions, trying to turn away from Ms McCall and Scott. They do respect his wishes and they turn around too.

“You were drenched when De– when we found you. We were afraid you would end up with hypothermia if we didn’t get you out of your clothes. I’ll grab you some,” Ms McCall explains, quickly covering up her mistake. She’s known Derek for a few years now, and his martyr-complex, so she lets him figure himself out before she tells Stiles about him.

Stiles just nods, hearing her leave and turning back to Scott. “So, shower sounds good.”

“Yeah! Yeah, just– Through here,” Scott stumbles over his words in his excitement. He’s been cooped up in this castle for five years, and Derek never let anyone other than his mother inside it. And the way Derek reacted at Stiles’ presence, maybe he’ll let the boy stay.

“Okay, so I’m handling the pump, so you won’t hurt your arm further. There’s soap and everything in that basket. It’ll take some time for the water to heat up…” Scott trails off, looking nervously at Stiles.

“Thank you,” Stiles says in return, watching Scott pump the water until it’s warm and to make sure there’s enough pressure for the water to travel to the shower head. Stiles strips off his boxers after Scott left the bathroom, the water now flowing steadily through the copper shower head, and he groans in satisfaction as the thick drops beat onto his slightly chilled skin. He stays under the spray until it turns cold again and the water stops flowing and starts to lose the pressure it had had for the last fifteen minutes or so. There are silky soft towels on the toilet, next to evenly as soft clothes, and he loves the feel of them against his skin. His hair is still dripping, and he gets tangled in his shirt when he can’t really use his arm. “Scott? A little help, buddy?”

The door opens and there are hands on his skin immediately, and he flinches back without meaning to. The image of Peter pops in his head and he tries to yank his arm through the hole to make sure it’s not him that’s touching him, but it hurts and he cries out in pain. 

“Stiles! Stiles, it’s me! What’s wrong?” Scott’s voice seems a bit muffled, and it’s not because of the shirt, but the blood that’s soaring through his veins. The shirt is ripped off of him, claws piercing through the fabric and Scott’s amber eyes pierce into his, but it’s too late, a panic attack already locking his ability to breathe away. There’s a roar nearby, and a gigantic man with bulging muscles storms into the bathroom. His eyes are red, fangs even longer and sharper than those of the others, just like his claws. He has hunched shoulders, making him look like someone intimidating. He’s filled with rage, and he shoves Scott to the side pretty roughly.

Somehow, the intrusion of the man and the surprise he brings with it, help Stiles to hold his breath. He actually calmed down without almost passing out or pitying looks while someone attempts to help him through it.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?” The gravelly voice of the man makes him shiver, the piercing red eyes searching his shirtless chest for injuries.

“N-no,” Stiles stutters, shying away from the man’s gaze. “He tried to h-help me. My arm–”

“It still hurts? Let me…” The man extends his clawed hand quickly, and Stiles winces and jerks away. “Sorry, I just…” He trails off again, now holding his hand out for Stiles to take. Stiles looks up, and his breath is taken away by the color of the man’s eyes. Well, colors. They aren’t red anymore, but green, and grey but also a bit brown. There even seems to be a bit of yellow in them too. Without realizing it, Stiles lays his smaller hand into the man’s bigger one, and he gasps when the pain of his other arm slowly lessens the more black lines appear on the man’s arm.

“H-how’d you… What did you do?”

“I took your pain,” the stranger says, caressing the pale, long fingered hand, turning it over to run his claws over the thin skin of Stiles’ palm.

“That's– wow. Y-your name… what’s your name? You look different than the others...” Stiles manages to bring out, a delicious shiver running down his spine.

The man’s head snaps up so quickly that Stiles startles. He seems to search something in Stiles’ eyes, and maybe he found it, because he turns away and rushes out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and then he’s gone.

Doubt rears its ugly head, and Stiles feels like he did something wrong. That man was so nice, and it shifted suddenly when he looked into Stiles’ eyes. Heat of shame rises to his cheeks, insecurity churning in his chest. 

He knows he’s not the prettiest, okay? And Peter calling him _beauty_ as a nickname before he dubbed him _my little spark_ , does not help.

“Stiles, honey, are you okay?” Ms McCall’s voice carries through the room. He shivers, realizing he’s been standing there with his ruined shirt on the ground, all the others looking at him like he’s made of glass.

“Y-yeah…” Stiles nods, blinking his eyes quickly while shaking his head as well, not able to get the beautiful eyes out of his mind. “Who was that?”

They all look at each other in uncertainty of what to say.

“I think you need to sit down, sweetie,” Ms McCall says gently, scooting over so he can take place on the bed. Before he does so, he takes one of the sheets off the bed and wraps it around him, being careful of his arm. Now he is a blanket burrito, so warm and protected from all harm. He sighs in contentment.

“We need to explain it a bit earlier than we expected, and it’s not like we wouldn’t have told you eventually–” Scott starts, but the girl –Erica?– elbows him in the ribs to stop his rambling.

“It’s not fair to want to keep you here for your own safety, and not tell you what we are and what happened,” the blonde guy says, looking like an overgrown puppy and nothing like the asshole who said that Stiles was adorable. Which he is not.

“You trust me with that? Already?”

“Well, it’s not like someone’s actually going to believe you once you’re gone,” Erica shrugs, playing with her hair.

The dark skinned man rolls his eyes, but smiles fondly at the girl. “We won’t tell all of it, that’s Derek’s part to tell, but–”

“Derek?” Stiles interrupts, shuffling until his back meets the headboard.

“Derek’s the caveman who ran away like a baby once he realized what a cutie he rescued from the big, dark forest,” Erica explains, earning a chuckle from the blonde man.

“Wait! Wait,” Stiles rushes out when the dark one opens his mouth again. “What are your names? I mean, I know he is Scott and you are Erica, but you guys…” he shrugs, his cheeks coloring with bashfulness.

“That handsome slab of meat is Vernon Boyd, but we all call him Boyd. Well, you do, but I’m allowed to call him Vernon, right, babe?” Erica says, winking at Boyd who smiles back at her.

“And he’s Isaac–”

“And I’m Isaac–” Scott and apparently Isaac say simultaneously, blushing furiously when they finish and realize what they both said. It’s kind of cute.

“Right, got it.” Stiles nods with a small smile on his face. “So, please tell me what the hell you guys are, because I’m almost dying of curiosity here.”

Ms. McCall smiles and lays a warm hand on his knee. “Do you believe in magic, Stiles?”

Well, isn’t that the question?

The thing is, his mom used to speak about magic, especially magic _inside_ him. She would tell tales about true love, the sparks of magic it could ignite, the ability to create new life. He tried so hard to make that happen, to show her how much he loved her when she had her good and bad days at the end of her life. He managed to do it, creating a rose in the palm of his hand on the last day of her life. She was so shocked she called him an abomination. It’s his last memory of her.

He never showed anyone, but he kept doing it, knowing his mother never meant to say it like that. She and his dad are in his eyes his true love, so he kept training himself, thinking about them and becoming better and stronger. But he always kept it to himself, afraid he would disgust or scare anyone.

But does Stiles trust these people? They seem to trust him: they want to tell him what happened to them. But Erica does have a point; nobody would believe him, they might actually think he would go crazy, just like his mom did. 

“Magic? I don’t know,” he shrugs, guiltily looking at his fumbling hands.

He doesn’t notice the raised eyebrows of the others, not knowing they all can hear the lie in his heartbeat.

“Well, then you will after what we’re about to tell you,” Boyd says. “Like I said, I’m not explaining everything. But the gist of the story is that we were all cursed to look like this, and to be forgotten by the whole kingdom.”

“Who cursed you? And why? And why does Derek look different than you? And–”

,"Woah hold up! Too many questions at once!” Erica interrupts Stiles, holding both of her clawed hands up. “Only Derek has the right to tell you that, but don’t get your hopes up.”

“That’s okay. I mean, I’ll still be curious: it’s my second nature, but if it’s that private, I won’t pry,” Stiles concedes, his mind whirring with questions. “But can I go to him? To thank him? And to say sorry?”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, honey,” Ms McCall says with a small smile. 

“Oh, okay,” Stiles whispers, disappointed he can’t say sorry to Derek for whatever he did to make him run away.

“Come on, guys,” Erica says, gesturing to the other boys in the room. “Let’s get sleeping beauty some food. Melissa, you want to make your famous enchiladas?” 

“Sure. Get some rest, Stiles, we’ll be back soon with some food.”

The mention of sleeping beauty reminds him of Peter and the promise he made. It sounded like Erica was joking, but he’s not sure if that makes it better or worse. So he just nods, looking back at his lap and playing with the fabric that’s wrapped around him. He flinches when a cold hand touches his bare shoulder, his gaze drawn to the person that’s standing over him.

“Hey, you okay?” Erica asks, all false bravado and harsh smirks gone. She looks concerned, her eyebrows drawn together in worry.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Don’t lie, I can tell when you do. What’s wrong? You don’t want to eat?”

Stiles’ stomach rumbles, making the girl and him chuckle at the timing. “That’s clearly not it, then.”

“It’s uh… The thing you said about sleeping beauty? Someone of my village called me that to mock me. Beauty, that is. It’s not so great to hear you using it too,” he confesses. He shrugs when she gapes at him.

“To _mock_ you? Stiles, you are _hot._ If I wasn’t in love with Vernon, I would gladly offer myself to you,” she says, and she’s not laughing this time.

“You don’t mean that, though. But that’s okay, thank you for trying to cheer me up.”

Erica just rolls her eyes, a sad smile on her lips. “I do mean that, dummy. And Derek’s chambers are in the west wing, if you want to pay him a visit.” She winks at him before exiting the room, leaving the door ajar.

He ponders about it. Ms McCall wouldn’t have said no for nothing, right? But the guilt and curiousness are nibbling at him. So he stands up and wraps the sheet a bit tighter around himself, telling himself he needs to ask for another shirt when the others return to his room.

It’s a big castle, dark and cold unlike the room he woke up in. But torches are lit every few meters, making the palace halls look spooky but fairytale-like too. 

He manages to find Derek’s room eventually. Well, he thinks he did. Somehow he knows that Derek must be behind those double doors. He sways with exhaustion and dizziness, even though he hasn’t done much, but he still let himself fall into the big armchair that stands in the corner. He curls up, and starts to talk, knowing Derek will hear him. If he heard him shout in the bathroom on the other side of the castle, he should be able to hear him through those doors.

“Hey, Derek. So, the others told me what happened. Don’t worry, not everything, they were adamant about your privacy. I get it’s your story to tell: from what I’ve gathered you are their leader or something. I just wanted to say that I get it that you won’t ever tell me what happened exactly, and that’s totally okay. Just– uhm… Don’t get mad at me when I ask pretty intrusive questions about it: my mother always joked that curiosity was my second name. Loyalty my third. I don’t know why I’m telling you this…” He yawns, rubs his eyes and hisses when he uses his wrong arm to do that.

“I wanted to say thank you for helping me, and I’m really grateful for that. But when you get sick of me, and believe me, that won’t take long,” he laughs self-consciously. “You can tell me to leave. And I will, I swear. Just do it before I begin to like all of you. You all seem very nice. Ms McCall reminds me of my mom…

“On that note, I also wanted–” _Huge_ yawn, “–wanted to say that I’m sorry for w-whatever I did to make you run. It wasn’t my intention to… do that. I’m sorry…” And he falls asleep, snuggled in his sheet.

  
  


♔

  
  


Derek broods.

He’ll deny it if someone accuses him of doing it, but he’s by himself so he’ll brood as much as he wants to.

It’s just that the boy, Stiles, is asleep on the other side of the doors, making adorable snuffling noises after falling asleep once his cute rambling died down into light snores. And his chest is hurting from the decision he’d just made.

It’s just that spicy smell he smelled the first time in the woods. He doesn’t know what he should think of that, especially since the last time he smelled it, his family died and he was cursed.

He’ll try to hate Stiles. Well, pretend until he will believe it. And with he, Derek doesn’t know if he means himself or Stiles.

But that doesn’t matter: it’s a pretty foolproof plan! One: Grunt instead of answering. That should not be hard, he does it all the time. Two: ignore him, seventy five– no, eighty five percent of the time. That one would be harder, but determination can make anything possible. And three: be mean. Snap at him, act mad and irritated. And then the rest will eventually work out. 

He didn’t even hear Stiles settling into the chair outside his chambers, but he can hear him mumbling now. Derek opens one of the double doors carefully, but Stiles’ eyes are already closed even though he keeps murmuring, even after he lets out a pretty big yawn again.

“...I also wanted–” _Huge_ yawn “–wanted to say that I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you run…” And Derek holds his hand back from where it was about to brush a few hairs from the boy’s forehead. He actually thinks he did something wrong?

He looks so small and vulnerable, curled up in the armchair, his body wrapped up in a sheet that is already sliding off his shoulders. Stiles shivers, and burrows his head against the chair. He even mumbles something in his sleep before he lets out a soft, barely there snore. Again, so adorable.

“Derek?” Isaac’s voice makes him turn around, his eyes wide with a sudden feeling of guilt.

“He said he was sorry,” Derek explained. “He thought I ran away with my tail between my legs because of him. And no,” he growls when Isaac opens his mouth. “Pun unintended.”

Still, Isaac smirks. Then he shrugs, looking back at the sleeping form of Stiles. “He’s been hurt in the past, I guess. Maybe not as bad as me, but emotionally can be a cause as well, you know? We just need to make sure he stops feeling the way he does now, for the little while he’ll still be here.”

Derek nods, his eyes and nose drawn to the youngest one in the castle. He sighs, tugging the sheet around Stiles’ shoulders again. His eyes fall to the purpling shoulder in the process, so he takes some more of Stiles’ pain, and the boy relaxes a bit more.

“Scott’s thrilled, you know?” Isaac speaks up again. “He’s so excited there’s someone new here. We all are, even Melissa. I bet you are too. You seem pretty smitten with him, huh?”

“No… he’s just interesting.”

“He is. What?” Isaac questions when Derek turns to him, his hairless eyebrows raised. “Objectively, he is kind of beautiful. And he’s nice, a bit shy but that’s okay. He’s pretty adorable.”

“Even more so than Scott?” Derek chuckles at Isaac’s surprised expression.

“Hng… Isaac? Wait, Derek?” Stiles interrupts them with a rough voice. He blinks his eyes, but doesn’t seem like he actually wants to wake up fully. 

“Yeah,” Derek says softly. “Just go back to sleep. Food will wait.”

“Sorry again… Jus’ come eat with us, please?” He sniffles and curls into himself even deeper. His eyes are closed again, and his breathing is becoming deeper by the second.

Derek just frowns, walking back into his chambers.

  
  


♔

  
  


Brunch is awkward, to say the least. Derek doesn’t know how to behave himself, and the betas are all sort of hyper because of the new table guest. The only one who behaves normally, is Melissa. She scowls at Derek when he says something rude, and he scowls right back. She just rolls her eyes at that, and keeps repeating, “He didn’t mean it like that,” to Stiles.

And Stiles flushes with embarrassment and hurt when Derek snaps at him. It’s just… Derek feels nervous. And he doesn’t know why, exactly.

“Thank you for lunch,” Stiles says eventually, once everyone is as good as done. He stands and starts to stack up plates, while shooting nervous looks at Derek and the pack, but the former especially.

“Stiles, you don't have to. You’re the guest,” Melissa says, standing up herself.

“I want to,” Stiles insists, shying away when Derek looks at him again. It’s clear he doesn’t want to be even near him right now.

Derek nods subtly at Melissa, who lets it slide and hums in thanks as Stiles continues to clear the table. She and Scott help him, since Stiles has one arm in a sling. 

It’s when the three are out of human hearing range that Erica stands up and points an accusing finger at Derek. 

“What is your problem? He is nothing but sweet and funny, and you act like a grade A asshole!” She spits at him.

“My problem? I’m trying to protect him! Once he’s healed up, he has to go. It would be cruel to him if we act all nice and make him our friend, and then send him on his merry way, away from us! He’ll forget us once he has passed the gate!” Derek growls, his eyes shining their red alpha color, making Erica cower with the force of his voice.

“Protect him, or yourself? Us?” Boyd counters almost silently, even though his eyes are still averted. 

Derek growls again, claws scraping against the wooden table. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Like you said, he’ll forget us. He’ll be hurt for, what? The two minutes it takes to walk from the castle doors to the gate?” Isaac mumbles, his neck bared. 

Isaac is right: once humans walk through the gates, they don’t remember ever being in the castle, meeting the forgotten prince. They walk away without looking back, never looking back.

“What are you getting to?” The alpha asks.

“We know Scott has bonded with him already, even though it’s subconsciously, but we all are not that far behind with doing it too. In a few days, our wolves will think Stiles is pack. If we sent him away, it’ll feel just like when…” Boyd trails off, but everyone knows what he’s talking about.

“When my family died. I know,” Derek sighs, rubbing the heels of his hands in his tired eyes. “I just… I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to hurt him by sending him away, but he probably has a family and friends somewhere, so… And I don’t want to fail you guys again.”

“We know, boss. We know…” Erica whispers, rubbing her alpha’s shoulder comfortingly. “But that’s okay. We can work this out. Scott is someone who trusts and likes people easily, but we can hold off for longer! A week or two should work, right?”

The other two betas nod, even though they’re shifting in their seats. Derek himself hums, not daring to say something out loud. He’s afraid they’ll hear his heart skip, or that his voice will break on the ‘yes’ he should be saying.

But it’s done. They’ll shut Stiles out and spare him, but themselves too, the heartbreak of letting the boy walk away, out of their lives.

  
  


✦

  
  


Stiles is wandering the halls the next day. Melissa deems it not safe enough for him to go outside yet, which she told him without even looking at him. That hurt more than when she was probing his head wound and arm.

His fingers follow the smooth walls, his eyes unseeing as he’s daydreaming, thinking.

So, all the inhabitants of the palace are cursed. The castle is cursed. Indirectly, the whole kingdom is cursed. Maybe even the whole world, since no one remembers these people.

They are all living in a palace. A nice and big one at that. That should mean they are important people, right? 

His hand catches on a doorknob, and the tiny action nudged the door open a bit. Stiles is shaken from his thoughts by the creaking of the hinges, and his curiosity gets the best of him, because it almost always does.

He pushes the door open a bit more, and an involuntary gasp leaves his mouth. This room is absolutely beautiful!

The library is huge: two stories with a beautiful staircase in the middle. There are several reading nooks, cosy sofas and armchairs and a gigantic fireplace that spreads warmth around the whole place. 

But the bookcases, oh my god, the bookcases reach the ceiling, no wall is left bare of books. And even in the middle of the room and around the staircase there are more bookcases.

“Wow,” Stiles breathes out. He nudges the door behind him closed, and starts to explore.

You see, Stiles is hyperactive, talkative and clumsy. His mind seems to always be filled with questions and stupid facts he spouts out at every opportunity. But when he reads, his brain seems to settle and he can focus. It’s the same when he uses his magic.

He gets absorbed by the atmosphere, the smell of expensive paper and the feel of the bookcovers beneath his fingertips. It feels safe here somehow, secure. His magic is brimming in a pleasant way, like it’s purring in contentment.

Stiles settles nearby one of the big windows, the fireplace on his left and bookcases on his right. He selects several books, just random ones, and starts to read.

He reads about the history of male circumcision, which fascinates him for some reason. But the book is not resistant to Stiles’ ability of reading quickly, so soon Stiles finds himself reaching for another book, and another, and then he’s reading about mermaids, and faeries, two of his most favorite themes.

He loves fairytales, and myths and everything that has to do with magic and fantasy. He gets immersed and won’t stop until he knows everything.

It’s dark too early, and his eyes hurt from trying to focus and his head is sort of heavy. But his magic is still close to the surface, so he closes the last book he’s read and closes his eyes.

He imagines meadows filled with flowers, a pond somewhere close-by where mermaids are playing with fauns and elves. There’s a tree with a swing on it, softly swaying even though no-one’s on there.

As Stiles opens his eyes, his magic spills out in golden glitter and silky rays. The soft green grass of the meadow is covering the ground of the library, a faun waving at him from behind a bookcase.

The creaking of the door startles Stiles and the faun. He quickly summons his magic back into his chest, the feeling of calmth gone.

“Stiles, are you here?” Erica’s voice echoes against the bookcases. “Dinner is ready.”

“Yeah, I have to put the books back,” he hurriedly stands up and tries to stack the books under his good arm. They’re too many, and they slip and fall onto the ground. There’s one book that has fallen open, coverside down. 

Stiles squints, getting back to his knees and grabs the book to read it better. It’s about lycanthropy, or werewolves according to the writer. His magic trickles out of his chest again, curling around the page and turning it. A drawing is revealed on the next page, and instead of being in shock, something clicks for Stiles.

“Stiles?” Erica’s voice calls out again. “You can clean up after dinner, maybe? Food is getting cold.”

The golden beam coils back into his chest after closing the book for him. He leaves it there, and joins Erica to walk to the dining hall. 

He’s actually sort of surprised that Erica came to get him. When he came down for breakfast that morning, there was a single plate filled with food waiting for him, but the rest was nowhere to be seen. Same for lunch this afternoon.

So he stops in the doorway when he sees that everybody is starting to settle down, plate of food in one of their hands, the other holding cutlery.

It’s a boisterous affair, some bickering between Scott and Derek who gets to sit next to Isaac, Melissa just taking a seat and smiling at Boyd who claims a spot across from her. Erica bounds past Stiles and climbs on Boyd’s lap before he pushes her off with a smile.

Stiles shakes his head and starts forward. He grabs the leftover plate from the trolley, and considers where to sit. He sees Derek looking at him from the corner of his eyes, regarding him. The others don’t even pay attention to him.

He knows when he’s not wanted, but he doesn’t want to be rude and eat dinner in his room. So he sits a few seats down from Melissa (the table is big, it can easily house over twenty people, if not more) and starts to shuffle his dinner around the expensive looking porcelain. 

The emerald green veins of the marble table underneath the stark white plate reminds him of Derek’s pale eyes.

He probably looks pathetic, but they don’t care about him, so he doesn’t feel the need to sit close to them like they don’t feel the need to talk to him.

There’s some whispering and mumbling, and then a conversation starts. Stiles tries to not let his tears free.

He actually manages to eat something, and it's not that bad, but chewing makes the skin on his forehead stretch uncomfortably. His head aches a bit, he should somehow figure out if his glasses survived the fall from Roscoe, since they were in his pocket at the time.

He instantly feels a wave of guilt as he thinks of his old mare. He hopes someone found her, is taking care of her. She was his mom's horse, has been with her since before he was born. He practically grew up with Roscoe by his side, his mom tending to her.

A sad smile crosses his face, melancholy filling his gut. He’s not really hungry anymore now.

“You don’t like it?” Isaac asks. His voice sounds sad.

Stiles’ head shoots up, a grimace taking control of his mouth as the pain behind his eyes and temples flare up. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. It’s delicious, though.”

“What’s wrong.” Derek, sitting next to Isaac (they figured out that Isaac had two sides people could sit next to), asks gruffly. Well, it sounds more like a statement than a question.

“N-nothing. Just– My head hurts. I’m not hungry.” His fork makes an awful sound as he puts too much pressure on the utensil and it scrapes over the plate. Everyone flinches.

“Did you…” He looks up then, Derek’s eyes catching his. He startles when the light green eyes flash red. “Nevermind.”

“No, just ask me.”

“I was wondering if someone has my glasses? It might help with my headache. Also help prevent them, y’know? I would like to explore the library more tomorrow, and I need them for reading…” Oh god, he’s rambling.

“I can help with the pain,” Scott offers, ready to stand up and help Stiles out.

“No, it’s okay. I should probably head upstairs. Please, enjoy your dinner,” Stiles mumbles. He’s actually really tired as well.

He knows it very impolite to leave his plate and dirty utensils on the table instead of bringing them to the (gigantic, like everything in this palace) kitchen. But he really can’t muster up much energy now.

When he reaches his room, he closes the door and leaps for his bed. The covers feel heavenly against his skin, the pillow just right (which is extremely special since he can’t sleep without his own pillow). He kicks his shoes off, settles under the covers and lets sleep take him under.

  
  


✦

  
  


Stiles dreams. This is not new, because Stiles dreams almost every night. But he dreams of pale green eyes and hunched shoulders this time. Of scruffy faces without eyebrows and fangs catching on Stiles’ own lips and sharp claws drawing random patterns on his naked torso and the claws go lower and lower and one dips into his belly button and–

Stiles dreams. This is not new, because Stiles dreams almost every night. But Stiles also wakes up every morning. 

This morning he wakes up to his glasses laying on his bedside table. 

A smile tugs on his lips.

  
  


✦

  
  
  
  


Stiles is sitting on the bed, in the bedroom he woke up in a week ago. He twiddles with his thumbs, then pushes one past his teeth in the nervous habit he inherited from his mom, biting the skin around the nail. 

He just doesn’t get it. Derek saved him, brought him here to recover, but why does he act so cold? He said it himself, Stiles didn’t do anything wrong. But maybe he lied…

And the others! They all seemed so nice when they helped him after he regained consciousness, but now they only answer in irritated glances and curt sentences. 

It hurts. Especially Scott’s and Melissa’s behaviour. It seems like the latter cuts herself off every time she’s about to call him something like _honey_ or _sweetheart_. And Scott… Scott turns away each time Stiles even glances at him.

Tired of his own mind, he walks over to the window and sits down on the windowsill seat, only to stand up abruptly and run to the bedroom door. The snow outside is looking like a nice distraction, and he deems himself fit enough to go outside.

“What are you doing.” Sound behind him once he finally made it to the hall.

“Goddamnit! I swear, I’ll tie bells around all of your necks, or I might die due a heart attack!” He gasps when Derek appears behind him. “And maybe learn to use intonation, just a tip.” He glances at the larger man, and tenses when he sees his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he mumbles, putting the warm coat on that’s hanging on one of the coat racks next to the giant doors. He hasn’t been outside since he was brought in here, and he can’t let this opportunity go!

“What. Are. You. Doing.” Derek repeats. “That’s mine,” he adds through his fangs, watching Stiles struggle with the coat. His arm -which is thankfully free of the evil sling- and head still hurt, but luckily not that much anymore. In a few days time he’ll be able to leave and hopefully find a village nearby.

“Oh.” Stiles stops his administrations and groans when his ribs protest as he starts to shrug Derek’s coat off. “I’ve never seen snow before, I just wanted to go outside… I thought you could maybe use the silence it would bring with it, too. I’m sorry,” he mumbles and hands Derek his coat. He tries to hide his disappointment, futility glancing out the giant window on the other side of the hall before casting his eyes on the still looming lord of the castle. He manages a smile, and knows it won’t be reciprocated, but that doesn’t matter, because he also knows the flash of his grin wasn’t convincing at all.

“Wait!” Derek calls when he is halfway to the stairs.

“Hmm?”

"You really have never seen snow before?” The beast’s voice sounds almost regretful, which makes Stiles turn around.

“No? I mean, my mom used to draw, so I saw her snowflakes from up close, and I sometimes–” Shit, almost revealed his magic! He can actually summon fake snow with just his mind, but it’s different. It’s not real.

He imagined the velvet soft touch of the flakes on his skin, just before they would melt and drip in a tiny stream down his face. Dreamt of watching them fall on a chilly, winter morning, his mom dragging him out of bed to make snow angels. His dad would be looking from the little porch he once built, safe from the falling snow, but absolutely not safe from the onslaught of thrown snowballs. 

His mom would have looked beautiful, her dark hair decorated with white flakes, her dress wet and her skin pebbled... 

“Come on.” Derek gestures with his hand, demanding him to come back.

“Why?”

“You wanted to go outside, right? Then let’s go.”

“You’re coming with me?” He hates for sounding so hopeful, but he can’t back down now, or he may be locked inside for the rest of his stay. 

“Yeah, I haven’t run the perimeter check I always do, yet. Can do it now, right?” He holds the coat out for Stiles, giving a tiny nod toward the article of clothing when Stiles looks at him in confusion.

“But, you just said it was yours! You–”

“Run hotter than normal people, so I won’t freeze to death. Unlike you. I’m special,” he adds when Stiles raises his eyebrows at that admission. Stiles smiles at his joke and doesn’t pry any further.

“Thank you, Derek.” Out the corner of his eyes, Stiles sees a tiny smile on the peculiar face of the other man. It makes him smile again, too.

When he steps outside, he is assaulted by the harsh cold. It startles him a bit, but once he holds his hand out and a few snowflakes land on it, he forgets all about it. He looks around the castle’s property, a gentle, white blanket covering it, making it look like it should belong in a fairytale, before risking a glance in Derek’s direction. He’s standing a few feet away, looking back at Stiles already.

“It’s beautiful! How come it snows here, but in Beacon Hills it doesn’t?”

“It really is,” the man agrees, not taking his eyes off of Stiles. “It’s part of the curse, like we’re frozen in time.” There’s a soft smile on his face, his eyes crinkling in the corner.

“So, if the curse is broken, it wouldn’t snow anymore?” Stiles asks, tilting his head back, eyes closed to make sure he feels every single one of the delicate snowflakes on his face, making him unable to see Derek gazing at him, a sparkle of life in his eyes that hasn’t been there for a long time. But when the words dawn to Derek, he furrows his brow.

“Broken? What are you talking about? If it was possible, I think I would’ve known about it, don’t you think?” It was supposed to come out harsh, because he was reminded once again that Stiles doesn’t belong here, that he’ll leave. But the opposite actually happens, more like fond and amused instead of irritated and angry.

“Never read any fairytales? Curses are meant to be broken, grumpy, just like rules,” Stiles replies like it’s that easy. But it’s the playful smirk he throws the man’s way that makes Derek relax again. 

Stiles knows it probably hit a bit too close to the problem, but since werewolves, curses, and magic exist, he has no doubt there is a loophole or cure. That’s when he decides that he’ll stay for the rest of the remaining weeks he’s supposed to be in Beacon Falls, determined to help the people that helped him. His father will understand. He just has to make sure he’ll be back in time for Peter to propose and marry him. Sigh.

He spies on Derek again from the corner of his eyes, and sees he’s turned his back to Stiles, looking over the rest of the castle’s garden. He decides to do something probably stupid, but he needs to get out of his own head for a little while, and the only logical solution is to pack a ball of snow and lob it at Derek’s hunched shoulders.

So, he’s man enough to admit that he’s indeed smart, but sometimes has pretty idiotic ideas. He’s also man enough to concede that he squeaks like a freaking girl when Derek turns around with a wolfish grin– no pun intended. Derek folds his big form to the ground to grab a handful –and mind you, he has pretty big hands– of snow.

Stiles turns around, laughing like a little kid, and runs away to find a shelter. But the werewolf is super fast: there’s a giant snowball thrown at the collar of his jacket and snow is making his way down his chilled skin once it hits him. He rounds a rose bush, briefly wondering about how the flowers survive in this weather, only to be tackled to the ground with two strong arms wrapped around him to prevent him from getting hurt.

They land in the soft snow, Stiles with his back on the ground and Derek hovering over him. Stiles’ cheeks are hurting from smiling so much, and his heart doesn’t seem to want to slow down any time soon. He bites his lip to stop smiling, trying to be a bit more serious with Derek so close, but then the other wrinkles his brow. “Don’t do that,” Derek says.

“Hm?”

“Smiling. Don’t stop smiling,” he clarifies, running a sharp nail across Stiles’ cheek, which turns red from a pleasant form of embarrassment. He also doesn't know what to do now, afraid Derek will turn back again, just like in the bathroom, so he averts his eyes and scoops some snow into his hand and dumps it on Derek’s head, rubbing it in the surprisingly soft strands of black hair. Derek lets out a low rumbling noise of surprise, a short, barked out laugh escaping his mouth shortly after that. He sits up, practically straddling Stiles’ hips. Stiles immediately takes his distraction as a chance to escape, wiggling form under Derek to start running toward the huge fountain in the middle of the yard, hiding behind it by crouching down a bit. 

It doesn't take long for Derek to snap his head up in Stiles’ direction, probably hearing his footsteps or his breathing, but it doesn't matter, because Stiles has already begun making snowballs, arming himself against the werewolf.

“You really think you can win this?” Derek’s rough voice taunts, his smirk so big Stiles can see it from several yards away, and he feels his mouth dry up by the sheer beauty of it. Somehow, Derek’s teeth don’t look so pointy anymore, his front teeth even looking a bit too big for his mouth. His smile is, simply put, gorgeous.

“You playing without us? I want a snow fight, too!” Scott whines from behind Stiles, standing in the doorway of the castle. He lets out a loud shriek when a snowball hits him square in the face, making Stiles let out a giggle. A very manly one, he swears!

“Oh, you're so on!” Scott yells, making a snowball and throwing it in Derek's direction, but missing completely as he jumps away just in time.

“You won't get me, McCall!” Derek yells, ducking on the other side of the fountain, winking at Stiles like it doesn’t do anything with the boy’s heart rate, or in that matter, his feelings.

“I’m team Stiles, too!” Isaac announces when he bounces outside, running toward him while glaring at Derek. That only earns a chuckle from the alpha and a radiant smile from the apparent team leader.

“Then we’ll be team Derek!” Erica replies, dragging Boyd behind her.

It becomes a full out snow war, and it is awesome! The werewolves make it definitely more interesting, using their speed and strength, but still somehow remembering to be more careful with Stiles than the rest.

And of course, true to his nature, Stiles fucks it up. Like, completely ruining what they have going on.

It starts with Isaac throwing a snowball at Derek, and managing to actually hit him for once, because somehow Derek has an invisible shield around himself specifically designed to keep snowballs away from him, or something. 

Derek pouts, looking grumpy and adorable all at once, and Stiles says without thinking because he’s a fucking idiot, “Don’t be such a sourwolf!”

Everyone freezes like they’re being held at gunpoint, eyes wide and mouths open in surprise. Some have some sort of proud twinkle in them, like they are glad he speaks up. But Derek, _especially_ Derek, looks like he’s about to rip Stiles’ throat out. _With his fucking teeth._

 _"What_ did you just say?”

“Sourwolf,” Stiles answers with a shaky voice. Fear grips him around his heart. Not fear for Derek and his pointy teeth, but fear for being thrown out and away.

“Don’t call me that,” Derek mutters, looking more like a grumpy cat than a menacing werewolf.

“Sure,” Stiles says with a relieved grin. He can practically hear the others exhale in relief too.

“This was fun!” Erica exclaims, a big smile on her face. Her hair is in disarray, her clothes wet and rumpled.

“Derek,” Boyd whines. He sends his alpha a look, which Derek returns with a glare.

“This was _fun_ , Derek,” Scott repeats Erica’s words. “ _All_ of us had fun.”

Derek seems to think, but his resolve is crumbling fast, Stiles notices. He has no idea what is going on, so he looks between all the hopeful –and one grumpy– faces with curiosity.

A small, reluctant smile grows on Derek’s face. He nods his head minutely and the group whoops in excitement. They start to run toward Derek, bowling him over and hugging him tightly.

Stiles keeps standing there, a small smile on his face. After days of receiving a cold shoulder from everyone, and feeling the tension between the others, it is nice to see them happy, and telling Derek they had fun with Stiles as well.

“Well, aren’t you coming?” Isaac asks, gesturing Stiles over.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” he answers while holding his hands up, an unsure grin on his face.

“Good thing you won’t impose, then,” Derek says and grabs his sleeve, pulling him into the pile.

Nobody could wipe the radiant smile off his face for the rest of the day. Not even Derek’s calculating stares.

  
  


♔ 

  
  


Derek just can’t stop staring. 

It’s a problem.

You know, one of Derek’s maids had been a drunk, an alcoholic. She explained once, not caring that he was only a child of eight years old, what it means. She explained that it starts slowly, you just like the taste. You feel buzzed and nice for a while, like everything is warm and soft and _more_ , so you start to drink more. You start to miss it when you’re not buzzed and warm.

You can’t stop. It _hurts_ when you stop.

So, Derek thinks, it’s the same as watching Stiles.

Derek is drunk on Stiles, and can’t seem to get enough.

It’s entirely Stiles’ fault, though. He doesn’t have the right to be so beautiful, so full of life.

They haven't touched on the subject of werewolves, or magic for that matter. But Derek knows that Stiles knows what they are. Because Stiles is smart (and he called him Sourwolf a few times now).

Stiles is everything.

The boy isn’t afraid of them anymore. After the snowball fight all the tension between the pack and Stiles just dissolved and it never came back.

And Derek is no longer afraid of Stiles. Of his calculating gazes, of his small smiles (which have now turned into full blown grins, including twinkling eyes and huffs of laughter).

That’s why he starts spending time with Stiles in the library. Not every time, but sometimes. They will just read and sometimes share a glance (Derek looking away quickly when Stiles turns his eyes on him). 

One day, when Stiles picks up a book called _Lycanthropy, a Study on Werewolves_. Stiles pointedly looks towards Derek, flips open the book after he sat down and starts to read, glasses perched on his nose.

Derek just huffs and smiles. His canines no longer catch on his bottom lips, seem to be shrunk. His shoulders are still pure muscle but no longer as broad as they were before. His claws seem to be more rounded, not as sharp.

He’s noticed that he’s not the only one with those changes. 

“I’m the alpha,” he starts. Stiles grins and closes the book.

“It’s hard to explain everything, but I know some snippets of it.

“We’re cursed, you know that already. I’ve seen you searching for a cure, but I haven’t found it yet.

“We’ve been like this for ten years. We haven’t aged, we haven’t changed… We are stuck like this and we will never get better.

“My family died that night. The pack and I came back from hanging out, and suddenly this loud bang startled us and everything went black. When we woke up, my family, our personnel were just gone. The castle abandoned and dark, silent.

“I’m not sure why I am the leader, why I am different than the others. I just know that this is our life now. Alone, forgotten…” Derek glances at Stiles from the corner of his eyes. The boy’s eyebrows are furrowed, his glasses slowly slipping down the gentle slope of his nose. After a while, he looks up and shares a small smile.

“But, how come Melissa is here? She’s not turned!”

“She was planning to come here for tea, and pick Scott up afterwards. She was stumbling around the woods, close to the gate. Scott first didn’t want me to bring her inside, scared of her reaction, but he relented after a few hours. I brought her here, since the pack can’t go past the gates, and she stayed. She’s been a mother to us all since then.”

“Why can’t the pack go past the gates?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. Stiles’ head stays resting on his shoulder despite being jostled.

“Thanks for telling me, Big Guy. I uh… I have something to confess as well. I’m…”

“Magic.”

Stiles starts gaping at him. “How… What? How did you know?”

“I can smell it on you. Also, I sometimes see golden sparks and rays around you sometimes. I didn’t want to trust you at first, but you just wiggle your way into people’s lives. It’s sort of hard to ignore you.”

The smell of hurt and dejection starts circling Stiles. He looks away and fiddles with his fingers. “Right, I’m annoying and loud. I know. _Fuck_ ,” he laughs wryly. “I actually thought you guys started to like me for _me_ , and not just tolerate me. Whelp, I guess things never change. I’m glad I have someone at home who wants to marry me, I guess. Let’s see how long he will take until he’d want to smash my head in.”

During his mumbled self-deprecating rant he slowly stood up and started to gather some books to put back. “Thanks for the talk, Derek. I understand my worth here. I guess I’ll just stay in my room again for the remainder of my stay.”

“Stiles, shut up!” Stiles flinches.

That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Well actually, I don’t. How should I know? Not that long ago you were ignoring me, Derek. But don’t worry, I’ve been through this before. I mean, even my own mother thought I was a fucking monster. This,” Stiles gestures between the two of them, “shouldn’t matter to me.”

“Stiles, I swear to god.” Derek rapidly stands up when Stiles starts to walk toward one of the bookcases. The werewolf grabs one of Stiles’ wrists, causing the books to fall down. “Just _listen_ , okay?”

Stiles looks angry, but Derek can smell it is directed towards himself and not towards the prince. Still, Stiles nods, but does not look up from Derek’s shirt.

“You are hard to ignore because you are just everywhere, and I don’t mind. I hear you laughing at Isaac and Scott, hear your heartbeat stutter when Erica scares you again. I hear you humming when you help Melissa clean up and Boyd cook. And I like it.” He raises his eyebrows to make sure Stiles understands the sincerity in his words.

“I–” He starts.

“Okay? Do you understand now?”

“Yes. Yes, thank you.”

Derek drags him back to their little nook, poking the fire so the flames start up again, books on the ground completely forgotten.

“My mom called me a monster on her deathbed. It’s the last thing she said to me. i was eight.” Stiles huffs, leans his head on Derek’s broad shoulder once the prince is seated beside him again. “It’s been over a decade, and I still think about it.”

“That’s okay. I do too.” Derek subtly turns his face towards Stiles’ hair, sniffing softly.

His stomach flutters, heartbeat elevates. Eyes glow red a little.

He decides to ignore it.

Now he still can.

“It just started, you know? I was reading in my bed, a few months before she– before she got sick. It was this story about fairies hidden in the woods. I closed my eyes for a bit, just imagining me looking for them in the very woods you saved me from–”

Derek pressed a smile against Stiles’ hair.

“–and when I opened my eyes, my room was full of golden trees and sparkling fairies. I panicked–”

“Naturally,” Derek snorts.

“Hey!” Stiles starts, but there’s a smile on his lips. “I panicked, and I never told anyone. I started practicing, every night. The night she died, I showed her a rose since that was her favorite flower. She didn’t like it very much. The funny thing is, she always told me magic could be created out of love. She knew it existed.

“I haven’t told my father. He would freak out. I’m afraid he’ll think I’m sick too.”

They stay there for a while, not talking.

Stiles, being Stiles (Derek has gotten to know him pretty well over the last few weeks), slowly starts brimming with curiosity.

"What, Stiles?"

"Nothing!"

"I don't believe you. What's gotten you so curious?"

"How'd you? Oh wait, super wolf sniffer. I uhh... I was wondering if I could touch you?"

Derek promptly chokes on his spit.

"Not like that! Holy god... I'm so sorry!" Stiles has scooted away from Derek a bit, eyes wide in mortification. "I meant I would like to touch your face." His brows furrow. "That didn't sound any better."

Derek snorts. How could he fall in love with this idiot?

"Sure, Stiles. You can touch my face," he relents, a smile on his face.

Stiles grins widely, and his soft fingertips brush over Derek’s forehead a second later. Over his eyebrows next which amuses Derek. Over sharp cheekbones and scratchy stubble. The finally rest just below his lower lip. If Derek would open his mouth and stick out his tongue, he would touch Stiles's thumb.

"Maybe I've gotten used to it, but your fangs seem less sharp, and your brows aren't as protruding anymore."

"Yes, that's true."

"Is that a good thing? Does it mean anything?"

"I don't know," Derek answer to both questions.

"Well, I think you look good either way," Stiles admits with a blush.

Derek hums, closing his eyes.

He dreams of this moment for the next few nights.

♔

  
  


So yeah, Derek keeps staring. And his heart keeps jumping and his stomach tickling.

He ignores the happy stares of the pack. 

He knows they see the changes slowly happening. Not only on their own body, but also around the castle: the golden trinkets seem to shine again, the painted, white dots in the eyes of the portraits hanging around the halls seem to actually sparkle.

Derek smiles more.

  
  


✦

  
  


Derek starts to spend time with him in the library. Not every time, but sometimes. They will just read and sometimes share a glance (Stiles’ cheeks heating up when that happens, an unsure smile around his lips when Derek looks away quickly). 

It’s nice.

But it means he can only practise his magic inside his room. It’s not that big of a hardship since he likes spending time with the grumpy man during the day, but he liked exploring the big room full of books, his magic lighting up the way he needs to go to find a new book.

Breakfasts, lunches and dinners are awesome. Erica once started dancing suggestively on the table, much to everyone’s amusement. She pulled Stiles onto the table with her and after some (a lot) persuasion from the she-wolf, he started dancing too.

Derek and Isaac almost choked on their soup. Melissa, Erica and Boyd smiled knowingly. Scott glared with a jealous glint in his eyes.

It’s nice that he has some friends, now. It’s so nice, he forgets he is not supposed to be here.

“What about a sleepover?” Isaac asks to no one in particular.

“What about it?” Scott says, his eyes lingering on Isaac’s golden curls. Yes, Stiles knows. He made it his mission to get those two together.

“You know, it would be nice, I guess,” Isaac shrugs and turns back to his food.

Stiles watches Derek watching his betas.

“I think it would be a great idea,” Stiles encourages. Derek nods, and Erica cheers in reaction.

They interact more, the pups and Derek. It’s cute, even though Derek first growled at him that he shouldn’t call them pups.

“You also told me not to call you Sourwolf, but how did that work out for you?” Stiles retorted and Derek just rolled his eyes.

"I vote for Isaac and Scott to share the bed!” Erica exclaimed, and cackles at the boys’ red cheeks.

“W-what? No! Why?” Scott stutters, daring a glance at Isaac. Isaac looks away, clearly hurt by that statement.

“Because you _loooooove_ each other,” Erica says, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“I– That’s not– I don’t…” Scott starts again. 

“Right, guess that’s cleared up, huh? Thanks, Erica.” Isaac says, a hidden sob in his words. The chair screeches against the floor when he stands up.

“No!” Stiles exclaims, his magic shooting out his chest. The rays wrap around his wrist and force him back into the chair.

Everyone looks at him with wide, shocked eyes. Well, except Derek, whose eyes are fixed on Stiles’ magic flowing out of him.

“So, uh, ta-da? I guess I do believe in magic?” He winces as he looks towards Melissa. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Isaac mutters. “Can you please let go of me?”

“No, I won’t. You and Scott first need to declare your love for each other. Come on, guys! Let’s leave the two alone.” And surprisingly, they all follow.

Erica sidles up next to him. “So, when will you and Derek declare your love for each other?”

“Erica!” Stiles hisses, slapping her arm. He quickly glances to where he believes Derek is, but he’s busy talking to Boyd, giving no indication that he heard any of it. 

Thank god.

“Just sayin’.”

“Sure. You’re a menace.”

“Ahww! Thank you, Stiles!”

Scott and Isaac do end op sharing a bed. 

Stiles and Derek just lay close to each other.

Stiles wishes Derek would just lie _closer_.

  
  


♔

  
  


Derek knew the other shoe had to drop.

Like, it was all too good to be true: the castle was slowly beginning to look like _before_ again. The _‘wolves_ started to look like before again, bit by bit.

Stiles would seek Derek out more often than not, even more often than Scott, and Derek enjoyed his company (duh, he was freaking in love with the boy).

It seemed like Stiles would stay forever.

But by the fifth week, one morning Stiles runs downstairs, passing everyone on his way out of the palace, out of the _gates_. After his initial shock, Derek runs after him, roaring Stiles’ name.

He’s going to forget. Stiles is going to forget and Derek will never see him again.

Once he reaches the gates, the pack and Melissa behind him, he sees Stiles standing there, surrounded by the trees of the forest. He turns around, his eyes wide, heart beating quickly in his chest.

“I have to go, Derek! My dad! My dad’s in danger! I forgot but I've only got half a week left!”

“You… you remember me?” Derek asks, voice full of disbelief.

Stiles nods, looking frantic. “You don’t understand! He will hurt him if I’m not back in time! Can I… Can I bring him here? Can we _stay_ here?”

“You’re outside the gates and you remember?” Boyd’s heavy voice questions.

“YES! I need to grab Roscoe! Please, Der, I need to go…” 

“What about that someone that wants to marry you?” Derek asks, referring to their conversation in the library last week.

“That someone is the guy that will kill my dad if I don’t get him out of there.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Erica whispers.

“So you’ll come back to us?” ... _to me?_

“Of course,” Stiles answers honestly.

Derek nods. “Isaac, go grab Roscoe.”

The horse was nosing around the gates a week and a half after Stiles’ arrival. The old mare could still outrun a pack of wolves. “Crazy old thing,” Stiles had muttered in her mane once Derek had brought her inside the gates.

In the meanwhile, Melissa looks calculatingly at Stiles. She turns to Derek. “If I don’t remember, you pull me back immediately, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she steps towards Stiles.

“Mom?” Scott’s voice wavers.

“I’m fine, honey. I remember you.” She quickly walks back onto the palace grounds to hug her son.

But when Isaac wants to walk across the border with Roscoe, an invisible force stops him. “Guess it’s not our time yet.” Scott quickly grabs his boyfriend’s hand.

Derek takes over Roscoe, leading her toward Stiles. “I’ll be back before nightfall, Big Guy. You won’t even notice I’m not here.”

“I will always notice when you’re not here.”

A cute blush covers Stiles’ cheekbones. “I’ll see you soon, pups.”

Derek helps him up the horse, and watches Stiles disappearing in the thick foliage.

  
  


✦

  
  


“Dad, we need to go!” Stiles exclaims as he bursts through the wooden door of their little cabin-like house.

“Stiles? Son, what are you talking about? Did something happen?” Noah questions. He’s obviously looking for the money Stiles was supposed to bring home, or some leftover goods. His son is frantically collecting things from all over the house, stuffing them into bags and baskets.

“Oh, something did happen. Something really bizarre and unbelievable, but it’s also the best thing that happened to me in a very long while. And we’re gonna go there, right now, or…” Stiles trails of, feeling a hint of fear curling in his gut. Anytime Peter can come in and take him away or hurt his dad and he’ll never see the pack again or Derek–

“–iles? Stiles? Kid, just breathe for me, okay? Deep one in, slow one out… Good job, Mischief. Now tell me, slowly, what were you talking about?” His dad gathers him up in his arms and Stiles burrows his face in his father’s warm chest. He breathes in the familiar scent and it calms his heartbeat significantly. 

“P-Peter threatened me just bef-fore I left a few weeks ago. He would h-hurt you if I didn’t agree to marry him, so…”

“So you agreed. Oh, my little Mischief,” Noah coos at him, running a soothing hand through his son’s locks. “It’s not your job to protect me. I’m the dad, you’re the son. I’m supposed to take care of _you_.”

“We’re supposed to take care of each other,” Stiles protests weakly.

“That we do, son, that we do. Let’s hurry along and pack up, huh?”

“You sure? You don’t even know where this place is and what the people are like!”

“Because I know you, and you wouldn’t take me there if it was dangerous or anything like that.” Noah looks down at his son, whose stricken and ashen face slowly comes back to life and a small smile even appears on it.

“Just, before we actually go… I need to show you something, dad. It’s something mom made me realize I could do, and maybe it won’t be as big of a shock once we get to the castle–”

“Wait, hold on, a castle? Stiles, where have you been the past weeks?”

“I’ll show you when we get there, okay? Just– Don’t freak out on me, please.”

“Son, what–”

Stiles wiggles his fingers, letting sparks fly out of the tips. They explode and rain down as snow, showing his dad what he showed Derek all those weeks ago. “I’m magic, dad. And mom knew. She… she called me an abomination after I showed her, just before she died. I-it’s the last thing she ever said to me, I can’t take it if you–”

“Never, Mischief. It was beautiful. I’ve always known you were special–”

“Oh, he certainly is special,” Peter’s smooth voice interrupts Noah’s. He’s standing in the doorway, blocking the only escape the two have. “I’ve watched you do it, you know? Practicing and failing until you finally could do everything you wanted to.”

“I’ve only done that at night in my room… Have you been watching me?” Stiles asks, his body shaking with anger. The smirk he gets as an answers makes his stomach churn in disgust.

“Oh, and what a sight you are. I have to say, I’m glad you sleep with only your underwear on–”

“Hale, get out of here,” Noah says, the words laced with venom. He grabs Stiles’ arm and tugs him behind his back, shielding his boy from the man in front of them. “He’ll never be yours.”

“That’s cute. Come on, my little spark, come here and your dad doesn’t have to be hurt. You’re back early, so it isn’t my intention to harm him.”

Stiles takes a small step aside so he isn’t fully blocked by his father. He eyes Peter up and down, laying a hand on his dad’s shoulder to ground them both. “Why? Just answer me this once, Peter. Why do you want me?”

“Come on now, Stiles. You’re smart, you probably figured it all out. But fine, I’ll indulge you. 

“You know how much I like power. It’s why I wanted my family dead. But that _bitch_ fucked up and now everybody forgot about us, so I couldn’t claim the throne like I planned to. Hence why I killed her. It wasn’t very smart of me to do that, because I need a magic user to break that damned curse, but then I _felt_ it when your magic started manifesting. I’ve watched and studied you for years before I made my move. You became _special_ to me, Stiles. Beside your magic, you are smart, beautiful… You could learn to like me. I’m certainly not naive, so I know love is a step too far for the both of us. But I like you, little spark, and with time you may start to like me too.”

This means that Peter is Derek's dead uncle? He killed his family? 

He now realizes they do share the same last name. Peter is a forgotten royal!

“You think I can break the curse? You think I haven’t tried? I’ve been there for weeks, and I _tried_ so hard, but nothing worked! And then what? You let Derek and the rest live? He’ll just stand in your way.” 

“True. That’s why I’m planning on killing them all,” Peter admits with a shrug of his shoulders. “Now, no need for more chit-chat. Noah, if you’ll be so kind to take a few steps back?”

“Never,” Stiles’ father growls, grabbing his son again and walking backwards with him. “Stiles, can you do something?” He whispers.

“I can’t use it offensively, dad. I’m so sorry. But wait! The window in my room is big and low enough to climb through! We just have to be fast, okay?” Stiles eyes Peter who is quickly advancing on them. “Three, two…”

“One,” Peter whispers in his ear as he grabs his father and hurls him to the opposite of the room. The man slumps to the ground, unconscious. 

Stiles looks up with wide eyes, and gasps as he sees Peter’s face. Electric blue eyes are shining down on him, fangs and claws instead of normal teeth and nails.

“Y-you’re one too…” Stiles whispers. That explains his strength and how he moved so fast. “But your eyes… they are blue. Why?”

“Because I took a live. And I’m about to take more.”

That irritating smirk and glowing blue eyes are the last thing Stiles sees before his head connects with the wooden wall of his kitchen.

  
  


✦

  
  


His wrists hurt, just like his head. Something is pressed against his ass and lower back, an arm wrapped around his middle from behind him. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and the groan he lets out seems muffled. It’s a piece of cloth, he figures out easily.

His eyes open finally, the last rays of golden sunshine seeping through the treetops above him. The second thing he sees is a horse, black as coal, between his legs. He rotates his head, his hair rubbing against the shoulder where his head is cushioned on. Peter’s normal blue eyes are looking down at him, an evil twinkle in them reminding Stiles what’s happening.

He starts to trash against the bonds around his wrists and the constricting grip around his waist, but Peter just tightens his hold further.

“U-uh, don’t even try, little spark. I’m stronger and faster than you. I just tied you up to prevent you from harming yourself. Ungh,” he groans as Stiles wiggles to let him know he won’t give up to try and get away from him. His ass rubs against the ever-present bulge behind him, and his eyes widen when he finally understands what it is.

Peter loosens his grip from around the boy’s waist, only to grab the collar of his shirt and tilt him so Stiles’ front is resting against the neck of the horse. It’s hard balancing that way, especially when Peter’s clawed hands grab his hips and yanks them back, his clothed cock rubbing between the younger’s pants covered asscheeks. One of the wolf’s hand finds its way back to the nape of Stiles’ neck, pressing him into the hairs of the horse’s mane.

Stiles growls and curls his hands into fist, trying to scoot forward again but Peter is too strong. He relaxes his muscles and just lays there, knowing when a battle is lost.

“What do you imagine they will think of you when they see us like this? See you bent over for the bad guy?” Peter laughs, grinding into Stiles with a low moan. 

Stiles’ eyes begin to water, his heart hammering inside his chest. He feels so dirty right now, and what will his dad think of this? Is his father even okay?

His chest feels tight and his throat burns. He can’t do this anymore, he just _can’t!_ He left his dad unconscious on the floor of their little house, he can’t lift the curse and save Derek, Scott and the rest, and then Peter is going to murder him too because he can’t do what the man asks of him. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying _so hard_ to will his tears away, but he’s always been a weak boy, hasn’t he? He couldn’t save his mom, he couldn’t help his dad with the expenses, the pack is going to die because he’s helpless…

Stiles barely notices that they’ve arrived at the gate of the castle that’s been his home for the last few weeks, but the creaking and groaning of the with rust covered gate doors penetrate the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. He keeps his eyes closed, terrified of what’s about to come, of the faces of the pack, of _Derek’s_ …

He has never hated Peter as much as he does right now.

A rough jerk on his elbow snaps him out of his daze. Peter dismounds his horse and grabs Stiles by his hips to drag him off too. He stumbles as his feet hit the snow, but he’s pulled back into Peter’s chest.

“Look, my little spark! They’ve been waiting for us!” The older man says cheerily, the fakeness of it hard to miss. Stiles just keeps his head down in shame, and in fear. “Oh, none of that, beauty. Let them see you before you kill them.” Sharp claws dig into Stiles’ cheeks, roughly pushing his head up toward the entrance of the castle. A tear escapes from his eye.

Low growls can be heard from the landing where all the werewolves are standing, Melissa in the door opening behind them, already inching her way into the castle.

“Peter, what the hell are you doing?!” Derek growls out, his red eyes dancing between his uncle and Stiles. “I didn't even know…”

“That I was still alive? Or that I was the one that tried to get rid of all of you?” Stiles feels the smirk where it's pressed against his hair. “Don't worry, I'm here to finish the job.”

“What do you want with Stiles?” Scott asks, a bit of a lisp because of his fangs.

“Oh, he is going to help me. He was a part of my plan even before he met all of you. But this is so much more precious! The little pups getting killed by their human pet.”

“Stiles, are you okay?” Erica asks. Her face is all hard lines and anger, but in her eyes you can clearly see that she’s scared. 

He doesn’t answer her. Because he isn’t okay.

“He won’t kill us!” states Isaac. 

“Are you sure? Because I know he will. Na-ah, don’t come any further, nephew,” Peter says when Derek takes a few steps forward. He presses a sharp claw to Stiles’ neck, his fanged smirk close to his ear.

“You won’t kill him, you need him!” Scott yells. His hands are balled, but he has his chin up in defiance.

"I can hurt him," Peter shrugs.

"What happened to the rest?" Derek ask. He keeps his eyes on Stiles, like just staring at him will prevent his uncle from doing something to harm the young man.

"I actually don't really know, but I don't really care either. Well," he sighs, " Enough talking, don't you think? Let's get this over with." 

The hand in Stiles' hair tightens painfully, and a shock of pain takes over when claws are pressed in the back of his neck.

He registers a howl of "NOOOOO" before his vision turns black.

  
  


✦

  
  


It is weird, waking up. He’s still standing up, for one. Also, his vision is blurry, but images and memories are circling in his head that are not his.

There is a whole family– the Hale family, Stiles realizes. He seems to remember that there was a royal family, their palace not too far from his home. He remembers that they ruled fairly, but also that there suddenly was no royal family anymore, but that no one seemed too bothered by it.

He sees Peter talking to a young woman with brown hair and fair skin, a glow coming from her hands as she is now in front of the Hale palace.

He hears howling and screaming, sees the palace garden turn from a haven with luscious greens and beautiful flowers, to a cold and freezing place.

He sees blood when Peter slashes the woman’s throat, feels the absolute _fury_ running through Peter’s veins when he sees Derek and the few young maids and servants they are still alive, but monsters now, and when the first full moon takes him by surprise. 

He can still hear howls in the background, mournful and feral, the trees in the woods behind the palace shaking.

And suddenly the memories are pushed into the back of his mind, no more room for the past. Only a malicious presence floats in the forefront of his mind, set on killing the people Stiles loves.

It’s a… strange feeling. He can hear a voice, but it seems multiplied by a thousand and it hurts his head. Also, he feels dizzy once he opens his eyes. He’s looking through his own, but his vision seems… greyed out, like he is dreaming.

The claws in the back of his neck are itching, and the back of his shirt is sticking to his spine. He feels hot all over, like he is feverish and he’s been having nightmares all night long before waking up with a scream on his lips.

Stiles’ vision is swimming, but after Peter’s claws of his other hand slashes his bonds and gag away and he starts walking with Peter beside him, his claws still stuck in Stiles’ neck, Stiles’ steps are steady and sure.

The voice –Peter’s voice– starts up again. _“Come on, little spark, let’s end this once and for all. Then you can break the curse and I will be ruler of this whole kingdom, you and your magic at my demand.”_

 _“Your evil laugh seems to be missing right there, you dick,”_ Stiles thinks, not expecting Peter to actually hear him.

“ _Shut it!”_ The thousand voices demand, and Stiles' own mind seems to be locked. 

_“First off, let’s make sure they can’t escape….”_ With a flick of his wrist, Stiles’ powers come to life and spikes of earth and ice grow out of the ground, surrounding the whole palace and creating a trap that can only lead the werewolves to Peter and Stiles, or into the castle.

It feels so _wrong_ . It’s burning and Stiles feels like his hands will explode and his stomach– no all his _organs_ are churning and he feels like he’s about to fucking _die_.

The pack have fled into the castle, but Peter doesn’t seem to be done with the cage he’s summoned around it. The spikes are being pushed closer and closer to the outer walls of the palace until they smash into the building and cracks start to show in the walls.

Holes appear, stones fall, the tower in the back collapses and the roofing falls down in several places, and the pack has nowhere to go.

_“Do you feel the power inside you, Stiles? Do you feel the thrill? Aren’t you hungry for more? Insatiable?!”_

He wants to throw up, wants to curl up and lay in the cool snow and just stay there.

With another flick of his wrist, the stakes move forward as one and the top two floors topple down.

The howl that penetrates his ears is heartbreaking.

They move forward as one, Stiles’ motions too fluid and graceful to be anything but his own.

The creaking of the castle’s foundations masks Stiles’ heavy and laboured breathing once Peter and he enter through the now splintered entrance doors. 

_“Do you taste the fear, little spark? Do you_ smell _it? It gives me such a rush…”_

Stiles finds himself feeling defeated. Even though Peter’s emotions are coursing through his body, battling his own for dominance like it’s the same battle about his mind, the feeling of defeat and failure are too big to ignore.

They wander down the halls, up the big staircases that groan and whine under their weight. It sounds like the whole castle will fall down upon them sooner rather than later.

 _“There they are,”_ The thousand Peters whisper in glee. The pack are all huddled around Isaac, who is lying on the ground with a splintered beam impaled through his chest and his legs trapped underneath another, thicker beam. The structure of the roof has fallen down, the dark and stormy sky now clearly visible.

Derek steps forward, the rest of the pack blocked from view. Melissa doesn’t seem to be in the room, Stiles notices relieved.

 _“Get away. Please go away. Take Isaac and jump of the goddamned roof and just GO!”_ Stiles thinks with all his mind, his lips moving but no sound coming out. A drop of something warm and wet lands on his cupid’s bow. It tastes like blood, and the dripping turns quickly into a steady stream.

 _“Quiet!”_ Peter demands. The pounding in his head is getting unbearable. 

_“No! I can’t even kill them, I don’t know how!”_

_“BE SILENT!”_ Peter demands. The claws seem to be grinding into his spine. Huh, there’s blood there as well.

_“It’s all about intent, Stiles. You believe you can, and your magic does it. Isn’t that right?”_

It is. He’s read up about magic users, and sparks in Derek’s library. Somehow, reading the word _spark_ and everything it entails, he knew he was one. He now understand Peter knew all along, thinking of Peter’s nickname for him.

The books all tell about intent, believe. It doesn’t matter that something seems unreachable, unreal or too hard. If a spark believes hard enough, their magic will flower and bloom and do as the spark wishes.

_“I know you know, boy. And since I’m in your head, I just have to believe you can kill them.”_

The thousand, no, millions voices begin to chant **_deadkillblooddespairdeathheartlessbloodkill~_ **

He can feel the palms of his hands burning, the feeling of _wrong_ and _sickness_ and _death_ suffocating him.

But then Stiles is looking into Derek’s bright eyes. They are red, but Stiles knows they are not. Not really, he means. He imagines the golden specks floating in the light green and brown pools of irises–

**_~deathfearchaosred~_**

–a heavy brow bone that only enhances the grumpy exterior, hunched shoulders broad and strong–

**_~strifedeadcorpseswounds~_**

The burning feeling is creeping up his forearms, like flames licking and caressing his skin. His eyes are burning and his head feels like it’s going to explode.

**_~hurtblooddespairfear~_**

–love and warmth and the feeling of _belonging_ –

The building is falling apart around them. It’s hard to keep standing still, the castle seeming to sway from side to side.

The pack has freed Isaac, thankfully, but can’t go anywhere. The floor is almost gone, walls are collapsing.

His magic is building, ready to go. Death is near.

**_~coldredvoiddeath~_**

–lips soft, laughter and black hair. Voice soft but rough and lovely–

 **_~corpseskill_ ** _bloodwounds~_

–hands big and soft, stubble dark–

_~murderstrifemaiming~_

The voices seem to be getting softer, the pressure on Stiles’ skull lessens bit by bit. He _believes_ he can overpower Peter’s evil, _believes_ the curse will be broken.

–kindness and **smiles and pink cheeks** –

_~killkillkill~_

**–lovelovelove!**

And his magic surges outward with a blinding, golden light and warmth that envelops him like his mother's embrace used to.

Peter is thrown backwards, his claws being ripped from Stiles’ neck. An angry roar follows his form as he falls down the ruins of the castle. An awful, wet sound and a gurgle echo through the palace’s halls as he is impaled by one of the earth’s spikes.

Stiles stumbles when the light is finally gone. He manages to grab onto Derek, who looks relieved but also terrified. The rest of the pack stumble forward, just to be closer to their alpha.

Stiles brings his hand to his nose, while Derek reaches behind Stiles’ head to wipe away the blood Peter’s claws left behind. 

Stiles finally looks up, the prince’s red eyes meeting his own brown ones. “You’re not… The curse isn’t broken,” Stiles whispers, his throat sore and his voice scratchy. He really thought his magic had broken it at the same time as defeating Peter. He failed… Derek and the pack will never be back to normal, nobody will know they’re here and still alive and–

“...iles? Stiles, you don’t look so good.”

“His nose is still bleeding!”

“He’s so pale. Like, more than normal.”

“Guys? He smells like death. Like he’s dying…”

–but wait! Curses in fairytales can always be broken. Not that this is a fairytale, but what if… Oh, head rush!

Stiles’ knees go weak, and he falls gracelessly to the ground. Derek catches him just in time before his head hits the ground. Thankfully, Derek’s strong hand is cradling his skull, since it seems like all of Stiles’ muscles decided to stop working.

“Stiles? What is going on?”

“Where’s Melissa? Is she back from getting Stiles’ dad yet?”

“Keep him steady, Derek. He looks like he’s about to pass out!”

What if he can combine his magic, and the fairytale ending? What if he believes hard enough he’s Derek’s true love?

“D-Derek… Der, you h-have to kiss me,” Stiles mutters, trying to grab at Derek’s coat to tug him closer. But his hands won’t cooperate, only his fingers flex weakly in his lap.

“Stiles? What–”

“Y-you have to,” Stiles continues. “Like the f-fairytales in your library! I-I’m sorry, but you need to k-kiss me now. It won’t take any longer for me to…” _die, to fall away and not return. To follow Peter and your family. To be with my mom again._

“You’re not making any sense, Stiles! You’re not– Ugh!” Derek angrily wipes away a tear with his still clawed hand. “You’re not dying, you hear me? I won’t fucking let you die!”

“P-please, just do it. Please, Der,” Stiles begs, and with a rush of strength he never felt before, he brings his hand up to Derek’s hair, tugs, and believes with all he has left.

**Lovesmilesheartwarmthgoldkisslipssoftlovelovelovelove–**

Another blast of blinding light explodes from Stiles’ chest, rays of golden glitter and sparks weaving through the room and around the pack. He manages to smile, but it is barely a small grimace, before everything turns dark.

  
  


✦

This time that Stiles wakes up, he’s in control of his own body. Everything aches, like _everything_.

He finally manages to open his eyes a bit, and the swirls of gold, black and dark green remind him of Derek’s chamber.

Wait! Derek and the pack! His dad!

He bolds upright but his arms can’t hold him and his vision whitens out as he falls back on the bed with a frustrated huff. He can’t even _sit up_ , he’s such a–

“Stiles? Stiles, son, how do you feel?” A very familiar voice asks him. That gets him to open his eyes once again and when he looks to his right he sees his dad sitting on a chair next to him. In Derek’s room. Which is not destroyed.

Also, there is sunlight shining through the big windows, and he can hear birds singing and people laughing… His head hurts too much to make sense of it all.

“Mischief?”

“D-daddy? Oh my god, dad, you’re okay!” Stiles exclaims once his eyes settle back on his father.

“I am, all thanks to you,” his father smiles warmly at him, his hand now resting on Stiles’ and squeezing reassuringly. “We all are.”

“You all… Dad, what– what are you talking about?” He moves to sit up again, and with the help from his dad he succeeds. Noah even manages to get him to stand up on shaky legs and shuffle him to the giant windows.

There’s people outside. A lot of people. The castle is encircled with grass and flowers and trees and more green, everything adorned with lights and decorations, like there’s a big celebration happening.

The spikes that had risen from the ground on Peter’s command, are gone, just like the cage-like fence that surrounded the once cold and freezing palace garden. The sun is shining, the water in the fountain is actual water, no more ice. 

“I… what?”

“Noah, Stiles,” a new voice addresses them. Stiles quickly turns his head around, blinking the various colored spots from his vision.

Standing there, in a beautiful gown with a mysterious smile on her face, is the queen. The queen who was supposed to be dead, who everyone forgot about. And also, Derek’s mother. 

“I’m not… What?”

“You’re saying that an awful lot, son,” his dad chuckles next to him. “This is queen Talia Hale. I think she can explain most of your questions.”

“But you’re supposed to be dead!” Stiles exclaims. 

“Well, not quite, actually. Derek never told you the whole story, did he?” At Stiles’ shake of his head, she gestures to the sitting area of the room. “It is because he never knew what really happened. Maybe it is a good idea to sit down. It is quite a story, and I imagine you’re still tired.”

When they’re seated, his dad’s warm hand resting on his shoulder, the queen starts to talk.

“My brother and I… We never got along great. I was several years older than him, since my late parents tried for a second child and never succeeded. Only after seventeen years my mother found out she was pregnant with Peter.

They spoiled him rotten, and we all loved him very much. But when he was sixteen, his girlfriend died at the hands of an assassin of one of our enemy-countries. The incompetent fool thought it was me, not a servant girl. My parents executed the murderer of course, but Peter was inconsolable and was sure that if he was stronger, had more power, he could have prevented it. That if he was the crown-prince, he could declare war to all the enemy-countries who even tried to come close to our borders.

After a while, his ideas and imagination got to him. He didn’t want power to make sure it wouldn’t happen again, but he just wanted _power_. My parents and me just let him be, not understanding the lengths he would go to accomplish his goal. My parents died after Cora turned twenty two, I already was on the throne with Peter as my right-hand man. He seemed better after Laura, my eldest was born. He took to Derek immediately, fulfilling the role of an older brother to my children instead of their uncle, so I thought nothing of it when I took him as my advisor.

But one night at dinner, when we were talking about Laura becoming the future ruler of the country, he snapped. Said it was unfair, that he deserved to inherit the power and become king of whole of Beacon. He stormed off, and didn’t return.

We had search parties out looking for him, knowing he couldn’t have just vanished into thin air. Even though he threatened my daughter, his niece, his _sister_ , he was still my brother and I wanted to protect him from himself. But we couldn’t find him, nobody could.

A week passed by, and we were still searching for him. But he found us instead. He brought a Darach, a dark magic user, with him and she placed the curse upon us. Well, the whole country, since nobody remembered us, remembered that there were people who cared about them and the kingdom.

The Darach didn’t have much control over her power, didn’t know how to steer her magic to do her bidding, so it all went south. Peter got hit too, but somehow didn’t take the brunt of the attack. That is why he could shift forms, live under the people. Derek and his friends, the members of his pack now, were just coming back from a night out in the woods. They were just on the palace grounds when the dark magic hit them. More magic than that hit Peter, but less than that hit us, so they didn’t fully transform like we did. They couldn’t leave the palace gates anymore, bound to the land and forgotten just like the rest of my family and servants.

My husband Alistair, our daughters, and the rest of the people in the castle at the time, were hit by the magic head on. We were cursed to live in the woods as wolves, without our human minds. We were feral, couldn’t remember who we were, only that we belonged with each other.

Peter fled to your village after he killed the Darach in rage, and you became his new obsession since you possess a power he never had seen before. He needed another magic user to finish or break the curse, so he could kill us all and our people would remember there was actually a royal family ruling them, otherwise his claim on the throne would not make any sense of course. I’m truly sorry for what he did to you.

By the way, I must apologize for that time we tried to eat you, Stiles. I hope you know that was not our intention,” the queen says to him. Stiles blinks at her, stunned with the story he just heard and realizing Talia Hale just confessed to wanting to eat him when she and her family were living as wolves in the woods. 

“No biggie,” he says, instead of addressing her formally and apologizing like his dad has taught him. “It brought me here. But, how come _you’re_ here?”

“Well, you kissed my son. You broke the curse. You were unconscious for a few days, but during these days everyone started to remember. The castle is like it was before the curse, the sun is shining again.

Only one thing remained,” the queen smirks, and flashes her red alpha eyes at him.

“But, that means the curse is not fully broken,” Stiles argues. “I guess that’s because my half dead mind didn’t make any sense when I came up with the solution on how to break the curse.”

“No, my dear Stiles, we are still werewolves, because our ancestors were. They were hunted and killed, and only the last human members of our family survived. The family tree turned into a fully human one, but Peter knew about our family’s past. The Darach used it against us. You helped us become who we really are.”

“Wow, okay. This is a lot to take in. Like, _a lot._ ”

“We understand,” his father tells him. “When Melissa came to get me, and explained the bare minimum, I didn’t believe her. But once I was here and the memories came back, and of course Her Majesty talked to me, I sort of had to believe. After all, my son is magic and a werewolf prince’s true love.”

Stiles chokes on his own saliva. “T-that’s not– No, that was my magic! I just believed hard enough that I was Derek’s true love, so the curse could be broken, like in the fairytales I always read. My spark has everything to do with intent and believe. It’s not like I am actually Derek’s true love.” A sad, humorless chuckle makes its way out of his dry throat.

“Oh, Stiles,” Talia coos softly. “Don’t you think it should come from both ways? If only you believe you’re someone’s true love, and the other person doesn’t believe it, it shouldn’t have worked, right?”

That was indeed the flaw in his logic. But he is magic, so shouldn’t that be enough?

Technically speaking, werewolves are sort of magic too. So that should neutralize the magic part. Which means that only the true love’s kiss worked it’s magic. No pun intended. 

“You always think so loud,” Stiles’ dad huffs fondly.

“Derek told me you read a lot of books. I bet you also read up on werewolves, or just wolves for that matter. You remember the part of mates?” Talia ads. Stiles nods slowly, the gears in his head still spinning.

“Isn’t a werewolf’s mate the equivalent of someone’s true love?” The queen questions, even though it is rhetorical. 

“I think you just melted his brain,” Noah says after Stiles stays seated perfectly still. 

“Let him think about it. Derek has been listening in and I think our sons have to talk.”

Stiles doesn’t hear the queen and his father leave. He also doesn’t hear the door opening again after just a few minutes, softly closing. He does hear an unsure call of his name, so he looks up into familiar hazel eyes.

This is supposed to be Derek, Stiles knows. He saw the portrait of human Derek in the ballroom several times, but he was younger there, in his early twenties. The prince that is standing in front of him has a soft smile which does not show off any fangs, but only perfectly white bunny teeth, eyebrows thick and expressive. His shoulders aren’t hunched over, now just broad and strong. He’s different, but still his Sourwolf.

He’s beautiful.

Stiles doesn’t realize he’s shedding tears until Derek rushes forward and falls to his knees in front of him. The prince’s strong hands reach out to his face to wipe away the silent tears, and Stiles looks with awe at Derek’s neatly trimmed nails.

He reaches his own hands out to Derek’s face, just like the time when the latter had let him explore his wolfy face. Soft fingertips brush over Derek’s forehead, his eyebrows which earns Stiles an amused huff. Over sharp cheekbones and the familiar scratchy stubble.

“My mom told you everything.” Derek sort of asks.

Stiles snorts. “You changed, but the lack of intonation did not.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but a small smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. “Did I change for the better?” His eyebrows are raised at the end of the sentence, like he wants to prove that he is actually capable of using the right punctuation.

Stiles, feeling bold, answers, “Well, the fangs were sexy.”

Derek lets out a full belly laugh, leaning his forehead on Stiles’s knees. When he looks back up, his face has morphed into the face Stiles got to know over the past few weeks.

“Where the hell do your eyebrows go, though?” Stiles exclaims, searching Derek’s face for answers. He finds nothing but the crinkling at the corners of the hazel eyes, and the soft lips pulled into a smile.

They look at each other for some time, Derek’s features slowly turning back to their human version. They smile, a private little thing between the two of them, but soon Derek’s face turns sombre.

“I thought you died,” he confesses.

“Well, you wouldn’t let me, remember?”

Derek huffs again. “My mom was right, you know? Werewolves have mates. People can have true love… You see where I’m going with this?”

“I think you need to spell it out just to be sure. I’m known to be lacking some self-confidence and tend to self-destruct and think about things too long and hard and my mind will twist something good into something bad,” Stiles responds matter-of-factly.

“I mean that you didn’t have to make yourself believe you were my true love to break the curse. I mean that you already were, and always have been.”

Stiles hums, sliding off the chair so he can climb into Derek’s lap on the ground. “I was sort of dying at the time, so excuse me for not recollecting what exactly happened. Want to try that true love’s kiss thing again? Because I don’t remember?”

“Only because you can’t remember?”

“Well, and for science.”

Derek snorts, strokes a stray hair off of Stiles forehead. “I’ll sacrifice myself for science, then.”

“Yay for science,” Stiles whispers before their lips finally slot together.

It’s nice, Stiles finds himself thinking. Derek’s big hands cradling his hips, warm and sure against his skin where he slipped under Stiles’ –well, Derek’s– shirt, and the contrast between the prince’s soft lips and his raspy stubble. Also, the floating and light feeling in his head and stomach are pretty pleasant.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Derek rumbles from where he is now attached to Stiles’ throat. Stiles just moans in response, his fingers grabbing Derek’s dark and silky hair.

“Also,” he says, panting when he detaches himself from the spark’s skin, “I haven’t thanked you yet.”

“Why should you,” Stiles asks, leaning forward again to kiss Derek. 

“Because you saved me. You saved us. You brought back my family, restored our family’s power and defeated Peter even though he had his fucking claws in you, literally. I should thank you for bringing the pack together, for getting through my rough exterior and helping me see how it should have been. So, thank you, for everything.” The sincerity in Derek’s eyes is clear as day, even though his pupils are still blown wide. 

“I… I let Peter–” Stiles’ voice cracks, so he clears his throat so he can start talking again, but his boyfriend? Partner? Mate?– looks at him sort of angrily so he wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

“You let Peter do nothing, Stiles. He forced himself upon you, everytime. He infiltrated your mind and took advantage of you while you were vulnerable and scared. But you fought back and made sure none of us were harmed.”

“Isaac-”

“ _Peter_ did that. And it was not even that bad.” Derek looks deep into his eyes again, his thick eyebrows scrunched into a deep vee. Stiles loves his eyebrows.

“Stop frowning, grumpy. I uh... I believe you.”

Derek starts smiling, soft and kind and sweet. “Good. Now, I hear Erica complaining from outside; she wants to see you. All of them, by the way.” After a few seconds of silence with the ’wolf’s head slightly tilted, he ads, “And my sisters too, so brace yourself.”

Stiles smiles and stumbles when he climbs from Derek’s lap, who of course leaps up gracefully. Before Stiles can walk toward the doors of Derek’s quarters, the prince stops him and laces their fingers together. And for good measure, he presses a kiss to Stiles’ head. Stiles has to bite his lip to contain himself from squealing like a girl.

It’s absolute chaos outside of the castle, but it’s a beautiful kind of chaos. People are singing, dancing, and hugging. Laughter rings around the garden, children are running about while their parents watch from their place on their picnic blanket, content.

“STILES!” is followed by a yelp from Stiles himself as a werewolf with long blonde curls leaps at him. His hand is ripped from Derek’s, but that only means he can hug Erica thighter. Not long after, the rest of the pack come barreling toward them and bowl the two over. Derek stands there, a fond look on his stupidly handsome, and now human face. 

“Come on, Sourwolf, come cuddle with your pack,” Stiles coos, smiling happily as Derek rolls his eyes at him. That action once again brings attention to his bushy eyebrows, and Stiles has to forcefully contain a giggle. He wants to pet them.

“Are you high?” Scott asks bluntly from where his nose is wedged behind Stiles’ ear.

“No, Scotty, I’m just really happy we are all here.” They all hum in agreement. “But I have to admit, I would be even more happy if your alpha would join us.” And to drive his point across, he makes a kissy face at his boyfriend.

Said boyfriend rolls his eyes again, but can’t seem to contain his smirk. A strong arm shoots out of the pile on the ground –Boyd– and grabs the prince’s wrist to drag him into the tangle of bodies.

Derek reached around his betas, elbowing Erica out of the way, so he can directly look in Stiles eyes with his own, twinkling ones. He shakes his head in amusement when Isaac nuzzles into his hair, but his eyes don’t stray from Stiles’. They flick to the other’s lips, which has Stiles licking them. Derek grins, and surges forward.

That has all the betas scrambling off. Well, except for Erica who watches with rapt attention until Boyd and Isaac drag her off. 

“Ew!” Scott yells, but they can hear the happiness in his voice.

“It’s true love!” Stiles yells back, grinning widely at Derek who is hovering above him, still. Then his eyes go wide in shock. “Shit, did I just announce in front of the whole court and a respectable part of the kingdom that I am your true love?”

Derek buries his head in Stiles’ shoulder, and laughs.

Stiles is just really happy he gets to hear Derek laugh for the rest of his life.

“Yay for magic,” he sighs, turning Derek’s face towards his so he can kiss him.

“Yay for magic,” Derek whispers back in between kisses.

Because even though magic took Derek’s family away from him, and gave Stiles an awful memory about the last time he saw his mother, let Stiles also be possessed by Derek’s evil uncle… it brought them together.

Stiles’ dad will probably argue it was him that actually was the reason for the happy ending, since Stiles had to go for his sake into the woods. Laura will deny that and say that if she wouldn’t have been that hungry and wouldn’t have tried to eat Stiles, he and Derek wouldn’t have met.

But we all know that if Derek wouldn’t have been the creepy Sourwolf that he is, and wouldn’t have been brooding and lurking in those woods, this wouldn’t have been a happy ending, like in Stiles’ favorite fairytales.

So _yay for magic_ indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> So, of course Cora bitches about Stiles having slept in her bed. And Laura obviously loves Stiles immediately.
> 
> Yes, I stole Paige from Derek and gave her to Peter. Whoops.
> 
> Who else has the most inspiration when there’s a project due for school?
> 
> *
> 
> I know the timing in the fic is a bit off, but it's fantasy


End file.
